


whose clothes are you wearing? whose heart have you taken?

by banditchika



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banditchika/pseuds/banditchika
Summary: She can hear shuffling from within, but restrains her curiosity. Alisha knows better than to press her ear to the door — although she might not be acting as knight-princess now, it’s incredibly rude to eavesdrop. Even if the person she’s eavesdropping on is Rose.Instead, she raps her knuckles against the door. “Rose! Rose, are you decent?”More shuffling, and Rose’s voice rings out. “Not morally, but my pants are on, if that’s what you mean.”





	whose clothes are you wearing? whose heart have you taken?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosenkrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosenkrone/gifts).



For all of Rose’s strange lapses in judgement when it comes to clothing, there is no denying that she has an excellent eye for color and cut. 

Alisha lays out the outfit with an appraising eye. The ensemble is simple enough: a dark blue shirt, sturdy brown pants, and a jacket much like Rose’s, if longer. Certainly, it’s not as elaborate as what she’d worn the last time Rose had picked out clothing for her, nor as utilitarian as her tabard, but there’s a charm to be found in the plainness of the ensemble. 

What a difference a change of attire can make. Alisha must remember to thank Rose for picking this outfit for her — she can almost believe that she’d look like an entirely different person in it. Alisha pulls the shirt over her head with some difficulty. It stretches awkwardly over the breadth of her shoulders, and the fabric creaks ominously as she does up the buttons of the collar.

It is just a size too small. Alisha sighs. She shouldn’t complain; Rose had been kind enough to provide her with these clothes, free of charge and at such short notice — but she’d perfectly guessed Alisha’s size when they had dealt with the pro-war extremists. There shouldn’t be a reason why Rose would suddenly give her too-small clothing.

Thankfully, the pants fit perfectly. Alisha can handle a too-small shirt; even the tamest corsets she has worn at galas were monstrous, strangling things. Compared to that, the shirt is nothing — even if Alisha has to be careful to keep from tearing the back wide open.

But too-tight pants are another matter entirely. Alisha dreads to think of what Zaveid — or worse, Rose — would say if they saw her. For all the jokes and insults Rose makes at his expense, she’s just as bad as he is when it comes to women. Or at least, when it comes to Alisha.

She wriggles into the trousers and smooths out the creases, smiling at the deep pockets and the leather belt at the waists. Wearing pants after years of riding around Hyland in her tabard and the occasional dress is strange. The material is scratchier and rougher than what Alisha’s used to, and without the familiar weight of her greaves and bracers, the whole ensemble feels almost exposing.

A rather ridiculous notion — she’s still fully clothed, after all, and the outfit Rose picked out for her covers more skin than even her tabard. Alisha would wear her armor too, if it wouldn’t immediately give her identity away. She should count herself lucky that she has a belt to hang a dagger from. For all that she longs for peace and gentle, prosperous times, Alisha hasn’t left her home unarmed since the day she entered Lady Maltran’s tutelage. It’s an instinct that’s been drilled into her and reinforced for years — and as dedicated as she is to this mission, Alisha doesn’t think she could step out into the city without a weapon, no matter how hard she tries.

The last part of the ensemble, the jacket, lacks the bolero cut that Rose is so fond of. Alisha is glad. Rose might make hers look nice, but Alisha much prefers long, draping pieces of clothing. Still: Alisha admires the worn brass buttons along the length of the jacket as she smoothes it over her chest.

It’s a shame that it’d would be considered out of place among the company Alisha keeps. It truly is a lovely article of clothing. Perhaps if she ever decides to wander around Ladylake like this again, she’ll ask Rose to lend it to her.

That was the kind of thing girl friends did, right? Share clothing? Many of her knights are women, and certainly, they’re Alisha’s precious friends and comrades — but they’ve never had the luxury of doing something as mundane as dressing up and sneaking out to spend a day in the city. And they’ve definitely never shared clothing. Alisha tries to imagine trying on an endless array of Hyland’s soldiers’ uniforms and winces. Perhaps it is for the better.

And although it might be too optimistic of her, Alisha hopes that it can be different with Rose. It feels faintly ridiculous, wishing to deepen her friendship with an assassin that once tried to kill her — and her own Shepherd to boot!

But Alisha can’t help the warmth that blooms in her chest when she thinks of Rose, unfurling like a flower in the spring. Perhaps it’s another flaw of hers, to think so highly of those she’s attached to — but Alisha has never been able to stop her heart.

It might be even more foolish of her to try.

Alisha sneaks out of the barracks as best she can, pulling the band from her hair and letting it fall loose around her shoulders. Rose and the seraphim are staying at an inn close to the market center — perfect for what she and Rose intend.

Alisha swears she feels eyes on her back as she steps into heart of the city, but when she chances a glance around her, no one is paying her any mind in the least. It’s a big change from when she usually arrives at a city. A crown princess, even the one most furthest removed from the throne, tends to draw attention. And Alisha has always been something of an oddity herself, always in the public eye despite being the black sheep of the royal family.

She takes the time to enjoy the bustle of the city. Anonymous, just another face in the crowd, Alisha flits from sight to sight, dipping her fingers in a fountain, peering at stalls and wagons — not a single person seems to recognize her.

It is wonderful.

Even the innkeeper barely bats an eye when Alisha greets her. The scent of food is enticing — even in the early morning there are patrons crowded around the low wooden tables, conversing or nursing their meals in silence, perhaps suffering the effects of a night full of ale or enjoying a solitary, peaceful morning. No one spares her more than a cursory glance, and Alisha heads to Rose’s room, marveling at the invisibility a simple change of clothing and hairstyle has afforded her.

She thinks she understands now how Rose can so easily change from a traveling merchant to a deadly assassin with no one the wiser. Most people don’t see what they don’t expect — and Rose’s sunshine sweet smile could make even a drawn blade seem unthreatening. 

Rose’s door is shut tight when she arrives. She can hear shuffling from within, but restrains her curiosity. Alisha knows better than to press her ear to the door — although she might not be acting as knight-princess now, it’s incredibly rude to eavesdrop. Even if the person she’s eavesdropping on is Rose.

Instead, she raps her knuckles against the door. “Rose! Rose, are you decent?”

More shuffling, and Rose’s voice rings out. “Not morally, but my pants are on, if that’s what you mean.” The floor creaks, and Alisha steps back as Rose throws the door open. She’s barefoot, hair wild and sticking up in points around her head. Her mouth curves in a lazy, catlike grin at the sight of Alisha, eyes roaming up and down her body.

“I knew it,” she says, sounding as self-satisfied as Ian after a hunt. “The tall, mysterious woodsman look totally works for you, Princess.”

“If this operation is to succeed, perhaps you should refrain from calling me that?” Rose rolls her eyes and tugs Alisha into the room by the wrist.

“You need to relax, Alisha. The more you think about this as an ‘operation,’ the stiffer you’ll act. And that, more than anything else, is what people are gonna pick up on.” She’s pushed onto the bed as Rose stands before her, fists planted on her hips. “So just take it easy, will ya? We’re just two normal gals enjoying a day at the market. ”

“If you say so, Rose.” Alisha startles when Rose reaches for her throat, clever fingers fiddling with her collar. “Er — ”

“Gods, I forget how weirdly you like to dress.” Rose undoes a button. Alisha’s throat bobs when her fingers brush against her skin. “It’s hot out, today! No one’s gonna button up their collar like this unless they’re total weirdos, especially if they’re also wearing a jacket!”

Rose makes a considering noise. “…Or unless they got up to some funny business last night. But since we don’t wanna look like either—” She tugs sharply at either side of the collar, exposing Alisha’s throat and clavicle. “It’s gonna be like this, capisce?”

“Ca…pisce?” Rose seems satisfied with Alisha’s answer, even if the tail end of her sentence trails up like a question. She runs her hands through her hair, busying herself with attaching her beads. Alisha looks away and scolds herself all the while, feeling as though she’s blundering in on a scene too intimate to intrude upon.

Rose is just doing her hair, not changing. Alisha keeps her eyes fixed to the wall anyways.

“Alright. Have you had breakfast yet?” Rose is leaning against the dresser, balancing awkwardly as she wriggles her foot into a boot. When Alisha shakes her head, she grins, all eagerness and bright-toothed delight. “Great! Street food is the best. And we might even run into some of the seraphim while we’re at it!” She wriggles her foot, the tip of her tongue poking from her mouth. “They ran off this morning to explore. Lailah’s pretty fond of Ladylake, did y’know?”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Alisha stands and instinctively smooths out the creases in her clothing. Something creaks at the seams, and she winces. “Rose, where did you get this shirt? It’s… tight.”

“Tight? So you like it then!” Rose snaps her fingers. “Ah, wait. Tight. Well, the shirt’s mine. I thought we were about the same size, but…” Her eyes settle on Alisha. “Guess you’re broader across the shoulders than I thought. Does it bother you that much?” 

Alisha flusters under her stare, a prickling heat crawling up the back of her neck to warm her cheeks. “No, not very. I’ll just have to hope that we won’t need to carry anything too heavy or engage in combat.” Alisha tries for a smile, relieved when Rose flashes her usual catlike grin. “I don’t think your shirt could survive such an encounter.”

“Yeah, no heroics today, okay “Allie?’” Alisha blinks. Even if it’s the name they’d decided on together, it still feels strange to be referred to by a pseudonym. Rose’s grin goes wide, and she reaches out to muss Alisha’s hair. “I like that shirt, and I want it back in one piece.”

“Is that necessary?” Alisha pulls away from Rose’s chasing hands, wrinkling her nose. “My hair is fine as it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s different enough.” There’s a petulant twist to Rose’s lips and a furrow in her brow. She eyes Alisha’s hair like it’s personally offended her. When Alisha cocks her head, Rose lifts her chin and plants her hands at her hips, bright and brazen. “Alright, ‘Allie’ — ready for a day out in Ladylake?”

Alisha’s heart thrills in her chest. Rose has always had this effect on her: a cold remark that ends with the two of them brawling on an inn room floor, a sly glance that steels her spine as they walk, alone, into the jaws of her countrymen-turned enemies. Rose sets a bar and Alisha leaps to meet it, to prove herself and her ideals to the person whose thoughts have become as a beacon to her.

She reaches out and slips her hand into Rose’s, squeezing firmly. Without the barrier of her gloves, Rose’s calloused hand is warm and firm in her skin.

“I am at your mercy.” Alisha smiles and revels in the way Rose’s lips part.

///

Alisha can’t so much as sneeze in the marketplace without elbowing someone. Taking advantage of the afternoon heat, merchants hawk fans and umbrellas, and more than one stall owner hands out cones of shaved ice.

Rose is nibbling on a skewer of chicken, eyes scanning the marketplace with lazy interest. Alisha, on the other hand, can’t get enough of the scene, still marveling at the way no one seems to pay her any mind.

“Rose, look!” Alisha tilts her chin towards a stall displaying masks. Made from thin, painted wood, the masks range from grotesque to comedic. She rushes over and carefully unhooks a mask from its hook, then holds it up to her face.

From between the narrow eye slits, Alisha sees Rose grin. 

“It’s about time you replaced the mask you broke!” she cries, tossing her skewer to the floor. “I never did ask for repayment, didn’t I?”

“Given the situation, I doubt I owe you anything.” Alisha places the mask back on its hook and takes another one, a gaudy red and white mask with a snarl stretching from both sides of its face. “This one looks like you, though.”

“Hey, why that one?!” Rose reaches out and shoves a shut-eyed, weeping mask into Alisha’s arms. There are long strands of hair attached to the top, and they tickle as they brush against her ungloved hands. “Now this one — this one looks like you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see the resemblance.” Rose taps underneath her eyelids, smirking in a way that triggers a very unlady-like urge to roll her eyes.

“It’s the crying, Allie.”

“Hey, you ladies going to buy something?” the stall owner grouses, mopping at his brow with a cloth. Alisha hurries to replace the masks, bowing her head and murmuring apologies as Rose tugs her back to the streets.

“So, anything you really want to see, Princess?” Rose, bereft of something to chew on, settles for hooking her thumbs into her beltloops, looking for all the world like another one of the merchants lining the streets, scanning the crowds for easy customers to lure in. Except in this case, Alisha supposes, Rose is looking for stalls to hook her into.

“Nothing in particular. I only wished to see Ladylake from the eyes of other citizens, to see what I can do to immediately improve their lives.” There’s a loose thread dangling from the sleeve of her jacket, and Alisha rubs it between her fingers. She should cut it, but drawing a dagger in such a crowded area seems a foolhardy idea at best. Rose hems and haws, tugging at the kerchief around her neck. 

“Lessee… if we’re talking Ladylake, there is one place I always like to visit whenever I come.” Rose shrugs carelessly and wanders off. Alisha admires how comfortable she is in her own skin. For a traveler that’s crossed the entire span of the continent, Rose seems more intimate with the comings and goings of the city than Alisha, a native citizen. She’s glad that Rose is with her, showing her sides of Ladylake that she’s never had the chance to know.

///

It happens when they return to the barracks. Alisha has seen her fill of the city, gleaned the information that her advisers hadn’t wanted to tell her. The sky is purple, lined with streaks of red and gold as the sun sinks behind the spirals of the temple. It’s beautiful. Ladylake is so beautiful: all of it, from the marketplace to the alleys.

And Rose is beautiful too. She has a leaf stuck in her hair, and only her beads are keeping her hair neat and orderly. Their hands are linked, even if Rose’s is sticky with syrup. Alisha has wrapped her — or rather, Rose’s — jacket around Rose’s shoulders to ward against the evening chill. It’s mundane. The two of them could almost be normal girls having a nice day out, rather than the Shepherd and Hyland’s princess. 

“Thank you, Rose,” Alisha finally says when the sky is speckled with the faintest hint of stars. Rose leans against the walls of the barracks. They’re standing before the entrance furthest from the main road, where no one can see them. It’d ruin the whole purpose of their mission if Alisha was caught just outside her door. “For everything.” 

“No problem.” Rose shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable the more Alisha smiles at her. “Seriously, don’t make a big deal out of it. ‘Course you’d want to see what’s happening in the city _sometime_ , right? Did you have fun?” 

“Oh, so very much.” Alisha claps her hands together. A thousand explanations bubble to her lips, but the smile on Rose’s face, a gentle shadow of her usual grin, stops her. “I… I never thought I’d get to see any of this. So really, Rose: thank you so much. This means a lot to me.” 

Rose shakes her head. “Geez, what did I just say? I’m going to feel embarrassed if you say stuff like that for every little thing I do.” A familiar gleam winks in her eye; mischievous, playful, just like Rose. “But hey, if you really wanna thank me…” She taps a finger beneath her lower lip. Alisha flushes, but leans in anyways. 

And then. 

Something pops. 

Rose’s eyes go wide. Alisha grimaces. The night air tickles the exposed skin of her shoulders, and Alisha pulls away as Rose begins to cackle. She slumps against the wall, her jacket slipping to the floor as she laughs into her hand. 

“Oh, Princess! Of course you would!” chokes Rose, swiping tears from her cheeks. Alisha flushes and fiddles with the frayed threads of Rose’s now-ruined shirt. She can’t see why Rose is laughing! Hadn’t she said herself that she liked this top? 

“I fail to see how this is funny.” 

That, if anything, makes Rose laugh harder. “Hey,” she gasps. “Alisha, Alisha, flex for me — I want to see if you can rip the sleeves entirely.” 

“That is absolutely ridiculous! Of course I can’t!” 

“Come ooon! I’ve seen those biceps, you absolutely can! Pleeeeaaase?” 

“I do not think so!” Alisha’s face is burning. She must be bright red. She snatches up Rose’s discarded jacket and slips it on. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Rose!” 

“Aww, come on, Princess! Think of it like, like making up the cost of the shirt to me. It’s already ruined, might as well get something out of it, right? Or I know — maybe as a final favor, from Allie to Rose?” She slaps her knee, doubled over for the force of her giggles.

Alisha shakes her head and cracks open the door. Some things never change. Even if the sun were never to rise again and the moon should fall from the sky, she can always count on Rose to be absolutely, utterly incorrigible. 

She smiles despite herself as Rose’s laughter rings off the streets and alleys of Ladylake. 

“I said, _goodnight!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a birthday gift fic for the wonderful pasdechat on tumblr, rosenkrone here on ao3!! please read her stuff, she writes the Really Good content!!
> 
> if toz were more memey it'd go something like this: 
> 
> soren: lesbians... what is ur wisdom  
> alisha: world cold and hard, tiddy warm and soft  
> rose: girl hot  
> edna: watch naruto


End file.
